American Heroes
by JerichosPhantom
Summary: The history of America's relationship with two Ancient nations, two sets of gods, and how they put him through a lot of stupid shit. Crossover with Percy Jackson; also in the crossover section under the title of Ancient American Heroes. Now a series of oneshots. Will be updated irregularly and when I feel like it.
1. Intro

**A/N: Percy Jackson/Hetalia crossover. There needs to be more of these, I mean, two Ancient nations who are the parents of several European nations living in ****_America?_****It's pure gold.  
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**NOTE: NOT AN UPDATE OR CONTINUATION-I noticed an error in the Historical note and being a huge history dork (i once read the textbook for _fun)_, i had to correct it. Sorry for the (inveitable?) disappointment. Historical note has also been expanded.  
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WARNING: LOTS OF CONFLICT WITH HETALILA CANON! HEADCANON IS USED INSTEAD!

I don't own Percy Jackson. Or Hetalia.

**_Ancient American Heroes:  
>Otherwise known as Mentoring America: Ancient Greek and Roman Style<em>**

All of Europe said he would end up like Ancient Rome. Powerful, and big. Too big to handle, to the point where he'd cave inwards and disappear. And he'd admit, he'd had some close calls. But...

"Don't do that ασύνετος!"

"If you want to fix your economy, _puer,_all you have do is-Oh, wow! Look at the rack on that _Lorem mulier_~"

...yeah. He had _them_.

He wondered if they acted this crazy around Greece when he was a kid. He hoped to God (or gods) not. However, it would explain a _lot._

* * *

><p>He had met her first.<p>

He had been a kid still. Around the early 1600's, she came to him from wherever she lived in death. She taught him to fight monsters, and about the gods, and the Ancient Greeks' rituals and ways of life that her son had forgotten. He tried to be as secretive about this as possible, since the one time someone saw him sacrificing a portion of his lunch to the gods, they accused him of witchcraft. Damn Salem and their witch trials.

She would pat his head and call him her _apeiron paidion, _then tell him to be quicker and swing his sword properly or get his _sôma_ killed or eaten.

She was Ancient Greece. The favorite wife of Ancient Rome, and mother to the nation Greece and another son, The Byzantine Empire, whom she fondly recalled as Ῥώμη (which sent a lot of not understood warning bells in his head). She was a mother and a fighter. She was also pretty snarky, but that was one of her charms, he supposed.

America thought she was beautiful. She had long wavy dark auburn brown hair and pretty green eyes. Her skin was pale but eternally tan from a Mediterranean sun that she no longer stood under. She would play with his hair sometimes and muse that she would 'fix' her hair to be the same color in her youth as an Empire.

She liked to call him Alexander, after her greatest warrior. He loved her like her sons did. She taught him his greatest values; democracy and freedom of oppression.

"Don't let that κάμμαρος force you down like Romulus did to me. Stupid handsome bastard."

"...Did you love this Romulus guy?"

"Ha! Love him? Please!"

"..."

"...Only a little."

"..."

"But not anymore."

"..."

"...Okay, I still do! A tiny bit. _Really _deep inside, may Aphrodite save me. And he you would know him as Ancient Rome. You're gonna be like him, my little Alexander. Only less self destructive with Mama to keep you in line."

With her help, he rose, and under the leadership of her godling Washington, he did what none had did before and what she couldn't. He defeated and broke away from his Empire.

Neither of them expected it to be so painful.

* * *

><p>He'd first met him around the 1850's. California had just become a state, when he strolled in like he owned the place. He'd breezed right past America, to stare at San Francisco, and said, <em>"Salue, mea pulchra West!" <em>

Judging from what he had said, and the fact that America had instantaneously and spontaneously learned Latin in the time span of two seconds, America figured that the Romans too had decided his land was perfect to continue their legacy.

He was...loud. Proud. And a pervert. He hit on women nonstop, even as the two nations (sort of) worked side by side to build his Camp Jupiter within San Francisco. He was handsome- objectively speaking of course, America was quick to add. Chocolate brown hair, with a muscular body and tan skin with stubble on his chin and jaw. Multiple random curls sprang from certain points on his head (America suddenly understood where Greece got his natural, and oddly good looking, bedhead from). He wore traditional battle armor _all_ the time, complete with cape and Imperial gold skirt thingy.

America asked him _why_, exactly, he was here.

"Well, since my BFF-" America vaguely wondered what a 'BFF' was, "stabbed me in the back in 480, I took my little Italy and went off to hang out with China for a while, but China really hates me because I would always hit on her -Ah, such a scrumptious Oriental beauty~" America blinked, and shuddered, because he was talking about China. Whom Rome thought was a _GIRL._

It wasn't right, dammit.

"-Anyway, so I hid out in China for a while, and than after Byzantine fell, I dropped Italy off with him, and then I think I may have died. Than my people moved over here when this place struck gold so they could get a good weapon supply and I followed and ta da~"

Rome taught him rules, and order, and discipline, and everything Mama Greece wasn't and couldn't be. He taught him the Roman gods of war, to be wary of the sea and greedy treasure, and the dangers of the creatures that Mama loved so much and whose darkness she couldn't see. Or perhaps they dealt with different breeds of centaur, America didn't know. He would clasp his shoulder, laugh, and yank him into his side, chuckling about his _occidentalem heros._

He was Ancient Rome. The strongest military of all time. The father of Greece, Egypt, maybe England (he was pretty drunk at the time, so he wasn't too sure), and the Byzantine Empire.

Curiosity clawed and America finally asked _who_ the Byzantine Empire was, because Mama Greece mentioned him. A lot. The big brother of Greece that claimed her Empire after she passed to the next plane.

After Rome stopped squealing about his "precious Hellas", he told him that while Greece had been his mother's son, Romano had been the one _he_ had raised to continue his nation when he was gone.

This was the point where America spat out the water he was drinking, because _**WHAT**_?

ROMANO?

Like, _Romano_ Romano? _Southern Italy_ Romano?

Rome laughed, and told him not to believe the little lazy weak coward facade (FACADE?) thing Romano was doing. Rome had raised Romano to fight to survive, not to jump headfirst into wars and battles solely for glory and fighting. Romano acted weak and cowardly because that was the only way he would be able to survive the powers that came after him and Italy after Rome was officially 'dead' and Romano's (1000 year old, Rome added) Empire fell.

But Romano, when he was pushed and actually fought seriously? Oh yeah. Then he was as smart, strong, and just as much of a warrior as Rome, with the cultured elegance, cunning, and grace of Ancient Greece.

America didn't believe it at first. Then the 1920's happened.

He certainly believed it then.

* * *

><p>America noticed that Ancient Rome and Greece had...marital problems.<p>

That was the only way he could describe it, despite that they weren't married anymore.

It was so bad, that they fought a war so devastating, so horrible, that the gods separated their children and Rome and Greece's people forever. Confined them to their coasts, to never interact.

It went pretty smoothly. A few accidentally met, but with a carefully concocted sip from the River Lethe, only America, Rome and Hellas remembered.

Then the Titans rose to do battle with the gods once more. It was a pretty close call. Manhattan was in chaos, buildings destroyed, cars in the streets strewn about. Mount Tam had been shaken as bad almost as badly as Mount Helen a few years back. The South was a perfect example of utter destruction. America, so injured from physical and territorial wounds, had to drag himself to the Emergency World Meeting in a wheelchair to persuade worried and nations suspicious of terrorism that a gas leak was what caused the damage to Manhattan. A terribly timed hurricane pillaged the South, while a unexpected earthquake shook California to it's core.

America was exhausted and ravaged. His chest was covered in bandages, and he wheezed as if he was constantly breathing in smoke. His arms felt like lead, his head was stuffed with metaphorical cotton, and his legs trembled and buckled with fatigue as the adrenaline from each battle died. He barely had the energy to run from Mount Othrys to help Jason fight Krios and run back to Manhattan to help Percy defeat Kronos.

Jason killed Krios on his own while Alfred and Rome and their campers fought off snake demons. Percy made the right and fatal choice and saved Western Civilization as Ancient Greece fought along her gods against Typhon and Alfred defended the Empire State Building. Both cursed palaces collapsed, and as America passed out in Mama Greece and Rome's arms, he was pretty damn proud of himself and his heroes.

Because while they were Romans and Greeks and half _god_, they were born and raised American.

And Americans would always be the heroes.

* * *

><p><strong>Historical Notes: Warning: It's LONG.<strong>

**The Byzantine Empire: My personal Romano Head Cannon that will never be true, but nevertheless would still be ****_awesome_****. I think while Rome had a big soft spot for N. Italy's culture and art, he probably trusted Romano more and gave him more responsibility and coddled him less because of this. A typical older sibling v. younger sibling dynamic (because while in my head cannon they aren't actually siblings, they were still raised as siblings for the most part).It would also explain why Romano is so much less trusting than Italy. Empires back then were involved with a lot of treachery and backstabbing.**

**Yes. Germania (Germany, Prussia, Austria, Switzerland, and Sweden's ancestor) is Rome's BFF. BELIEVE IT.**

**The Western Roman Empire (Ancient Rome) died around 476 AD, but the Eastern Roman Empire (The Byzantine Empire/Romano) lasted for another 1000(ish) years until 1453. Ancient Greece (who was stubborn and still raising Greece) lingered around, and died around 1453 AD when Turkey (the Ottoman Empire at the time) conquered the Byzantine Empire and ended all semblance of Ancient Greek culture. The Byzantine Empire, now just Romano, rejoined with Italy as the 'Southern' part of Italy since Rome was still his along with several Kingdoms in Sicily and stuff. Also, many of the Byzantine survivors actually fled to Rome (and thus S. Italy) after the Ottoman Empire took over (Thank you AP Euro for making my headcannon even more solid and logical!). Then, off course, their people got weak and in order to survive, Romano had to play possum and allow himself to be conquered with Italy. Unfortunately, he hasn't had a chance to stop playing possum in Europe since, except for the 1920's in America and during WWII when he led the Italian resistance (the people of Southern Italy, especially Naples, were pretty fierce. You could see the Roman-ness). While in Byzantine, a mixture of Roman and Greek culture, the Greek part was stronger as Greek was the official language, Christianity took hold, and was simply a lot more Greek than Roman. However, the fact that Romano looks a lot more like Rome (even more than Italy, despite that he says he doesn't, because he ****_does) _****shows how Roman culture and influence was still there. He was often seen as the heir to the Roman Empire and was associated and revered as the continuation of Ancient Rome, as well as being almost worshipped as a great Empire and the starter of Christianity. Seriously, Russia considered them superior and awesome since they thought _they _were the heirs to the Byzantine Empire (because they followed the same brand of Chrisitanity as him (Greek Orthodox)).  
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**Rome was pretty open with his feelings. Ancient Greece was pretty independent, and mostly a warrior, so she was kinda tsundere so she wouldn't get to close to others and have her heart crushed with death or betrayal. This didn't work since she, very grudgingly, fell in love with Rome. Romano inherited the tsundere-ness. Greece did not.**

**Hellas is Ancient Greece. Chick had a ****_lot_**** of names, and the Greek word for Greece is Hellas. Ancient Greece probably would've used it as her 'human' name. Ancient Greeks and Romans had tan skin and dark hair, but liked pale skin and blonde hair (yes, you may laugh now) since such coloring was rare in their places. Greeks would bleach (or as I put it in the story, 'fix') their hair (how, I don't know), to be more blonde, while Romans used some type of creams (again, don't ask. I don't know) to make their skin paler.**

**Greece (modern) doesn't know that he and Romano are related, because Romano as a really young kid was raised by Rome alone on the go as Rome traveled around and taught him about fighting and conquering and all the good stuff. And when Romano came back, he was the Byzantine Empire, busy, and looked jack like Greece or Ancient Greece. Ancient Greece thought it would be best for them both if the fact that they are brothers stayed a secret. Greece has been raised by both Rome and Ancient Greece (for a ****_very_**** brief period of time). Romano was raised by Rome only, then would see Ancient Greece from time to time as the Byzantine Empire after Rome as dead, which is why Romano isn't mentioned when America wonders if Rome and Ancient Greece always acted so nuts around Greece when they were raising him.**

**In the Percy Jackson series, it is mentioned, I think in the Sea of Monsters or the Lightning Thief, that George Washington was a half-blood of the Greek variety. He lived in the 1700's, led the American Revolution, and was our first president. Otherwise known as the one dollar bill guy.**

**Camp Jupiter could only be founded when California was founded, is my logic (the book doesn't give an exact date when the Camp was founded in America), and California became a state in 1851.**

**Rome and China were pretty close and traded a lot. The closeness was mostly on Romes part. It was not mutual for China. China thought he was a drunk bastard who should stop hitting on him, or suffer the pain from his wok and ladle of DOOM.**

**The Second Titans War: Really fucked with America's body. Ow.**

**Battle of Manhattan: Defeat of Kronos and successful end of the war and the Greeks managed to defend the Empire State Building (Mt. Olympus)**

**Mt. Othrys: The Romans defeated the Titan Krios and destroyed the black palace Othrys under Jason Grace's leadership.**

**Typhon: Did a LOT of damage, mostly in the Southern states if memory serves me correctly.**

**Mount Helen: Percy Jackson blew it up in The Battle of the Labyrinth in order to escape some monsters.**

_**Language Guide: In order of appearance; possibly inaccurate as I don't speak Ancient Greek or Latin.**_

_**ασύνετος: Stupid (Ancient Greek)**_

_**puer: boy (Latin)**_

_**Lorem mulier: Sexy woman (Latin)**_

_**apeiron paidion: limitless child (Ancient Greek)**_

_**sôma: body (Ancient Greek)**_

_**Ῥώμη**_**: ****_Roma (Anicent Greek)_**

_**κάμμαρος: Lobster (Ancient Greek; American revolutionists would call British soldiers 'Lobster backs' because of their redcoats)**_

_**Salue, mea pulchra West!: Hello my beautiful West! (Latin)**_

_**occidentalem heros: Western hero (Latin)**_


	2. Shoe Delivery

**A/N: Slight triple crossover in the bottom A/N with the Kane Chronicles. Mentions of US state personifications.  
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_**Shoe Delivery**  
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Alfred was a subscriber of many magazines. _Time, Entertainment Weekly, US Weekly, Parenting, Southern Living, Esquire, _and formerly _American__ Handgunner _to name a few. He suspended his subscription to the last one when Americans began to vigorously debate gun control, and reading the magazine gave him serious migraines. However, Alfred also subscribed to the less known magazines from the Hero world; _Totally Roman, the Athena Articles, _and the _Greek Goods Catalog. _

_Totally Roman _and _the Athena Articles _were just monthly magazines on the happenings in New Rome and Camp Half-blood. They had the usual stuff; latest weapons, issued quests, war outbreaks, and other mundane information.

(It should be noted that when Alfred read both in _Totally Roman _and _the Athena Articles _that war was breaking out between the two civilizations _again,_ Alfred cried. Cried, bought an insane amount of ice cream and the latest issue of _People_, and didn't leave his house for two days.)

Anyway, the last magazine Alfred got every month was his _Greek Goods Catalog_. It was basically a magazine full of cool Ancient Greek weapons and magical objects that you could buy with either a shitload of golden drachmas or doing 'labor benefiting the gods', which was just a fancy way of saying the gods will give you cool stuff if you resign to temporarily being their bitch. So Alfred, one Sunday afternoon after church, (hey, stereotypical Southern obligation) sat down with his latest issue of _GGC_ while eating his lunch. As he was munching on his lasagna, he noticed that there was a mega sale on Hermes's patented winged shoes. Only 10 golden drachmas (down from 20!), _and _Alfred got the Heroes' Discount, dropping the price to 5 drachmas. Alfred grinned. He had lost his last pair of winged shoes in the last Greek-Roman Civil war, after California* set them on fire for 'cheating'.

(Incidentally, Florida kicked him in the shin for using Imperial Gold during that war*).

And so, on that lovely Sunday afternoon after another uncomfortable day at church, Alfred ate his lunch, filled out the order form with 5 drachmas for a pair of winged All-Star Converse (Red) and spent the rest of the day watching football with Tony.

* * *

><p>Two weeks later, it was the world meeting. Alfred sat in his seat, sipping a Coke through a plastic straw and idly listening to England complain about France. Every now and then he added a "Yeah" or "Uh-huh" or "That's totally unheroic, dude!" when England gave a pause for him to interject his opinion (agree with him). Alfred tapped his fingers against the table, irked. He had been expecting his new shoes a week ago, and they hadn't shown. Hermes was usually really good about deliveries, despite the overwhelming amount of mail he received daily. Alfred sighed, and texted Canada about maybe going out for lunch. Get some Chinese or something. Canada replied something about going out with Prussia. America snorted lightly at the response. <em>Just friends, my ass. <em>He thought sourly. _Guess I'm going to be productive today. _

(America had this weird paradox about himself, in which that he was usually more productive when he was in a bad mood, because he had less motive or desire to joke around or talk to others and was, in general, less disruptive (though unpleasant to be with)).

America's phoned dinged. _Dinner? _Came the text from Canada, and America locked eyes briefly with his brother and grinned, mood lifted a tad, and flashed a thumbs up. Canada smiled at him, before informing his pet bear that he was Canada and no, he couldn't feed him right now, they were busy with work.

* * *

><p>Italy was giving his speech on the events in his house, which consisted of his boss leaving office, failing and unstable elections, and the possibility of abandoning the Euro due to Italy's massive debt. There were also some interjections about cats and pasta.<p>

"And that's why _Signor_ Grillo says we should abandon the Euro, Ve~!" Italy finished smiling brightly, despite the less than chipper news that had the entire European Union twitching and blanching in utter horror. "Now _fratello _is going to say his part about the Pope leaving office-"

"Hello." Alfred froze. _No._ He turned and his mouth opened in pure terror when he realized, yes, that was who he thought he was, and oh man, _he was so fucked._

A man stood there. His hair was black and curly (today), and had cheerful but tired blue eyes and an wicked elvish grin. He was wearing a standard US mailman suit, and due to it being spring, was wearing the version with the shorts. America dully noted in the midst of his mini panic attack that all the female nations (and France) had their heads tilted as they subtly checked out his athletic legs. His normal pitch helmet sat upon his head, with his mail bag over his shoulder and clipboard in hand. He was wearing running shoes.

"Sorry to interrupt, but I have a delivery for Alfred F. Jones." Hermes continued blithely, totally unaware that he was ending America's life as America knew it. Hermes checked his clipboard, "Ordered two weeks ago, a pair of-" This is when America bolted out of his seat, ran to Hermes and dragged him out of the meeting room, sprinting as though there were hellhounds snapping at his heels, leaving the room completely drenched in confused silence.

* * *

><p>America leaned over, hands on his knees, panting from the run. Dear <em>gods<em>, that had been close. Hermes raised an eyebrow. "Uh, what in the name of the Underworld was _that _about?" The god paused. "And how are you _that _out of breath? We go _jogging_ together, for the love of Zeus." Alfred looked up and glared. "It's -pant- from the panic -pant- attack." Alfred huffed, before gaining his breath back and straightening. "Why the _hell _did you decide to deliver that during a World Meeting? You know I have to keep the mythological world on the down-low!" Hermes looked surprised. "Wow, really? We're an international secret? That's kinda cool." America smacked his forehead in aggravation. "DUDE. TIME AND PLACE."

Hermes blinked. "Hey, how's Greece doing? Does he still talk to his cats?"

"Dammit Hermes, now's not the time- Greece used to talk to his cats?"

"...No." Hermes looked shifty for a second, before coughing. "Uh, anyway, here are your shoes." He handed Alfred a slightly shaking box as the shoes' wings beat against the sides, struggling for freedom and the open air. "You know the command word, and all." Hermes said, pulling out his cell phone and turning it into a pen styled like a caduceus. Alfred knew from personal experience that the snakes on the 'pen' were actually quite real. "Hey Martha. Hey George."

_Hello dear. _Martha hissed kindly. _How are you, ssssssweeite?_

_Got any ratssssss? _Her husband, George, asked. Martha turned towards him and headbutted him. _George! _She scolded. _The poor boy hassss jusssst been embarrasssssed in front of all hisssss friendssss! Be more sssssenssssitve!_

_Ssssssorry for your plight. _George said to Alfred. _But seriousssssly, do you have any ratssssss?_

_GEORGE!_

"Knock it off you two." Hermes said sternly. "Or I'll shut down your laser mode for a week."

_Not the lassser mode! The lassser mode is awesssome!_

"Gee, Herms, that's a little harsh." Alfred muttered as he signed the waiver presented to him, feeling bad that he indirectly got the two snakes reprimanded. Hermes shrugged. "Eh. I'm a god. I have to appear somewhat disciplinary."

"...Sure, Herms. Sure."

* * *

><p>America was screwed. He stared at the closed meeting double doors, wincing as he heard the muffled conversations about him, his 'friend', and the sheer oddity of what happened bounce around in the room. <em>I could manipulate the Mist and make them think it was just a mistake delivery, <em>Alfred thought, _but the nations that use magic won't buy that. Thank hamburgers that at least __**Greece**__ was asleep._ _Okay, deep breaths America. You're the hero. Literally. _And with that, America pushed opened the doors, delivery box under his arm (he had already calmed them down with the command word), and as casually as he could, strolled back into the meeting like he owned the damn place. "Sorry 'bout that," he said in a hopefully-not-nervous tone of voice. He settled back in his seat, horribly aware that the stares of every single nation (that came to these meetings) were drilling into him like George's laser mode. He looked at Italy and Romano, and gestured awkwardly. "You were saying?"

"What the fuck was that America?" _Ah, Romano. If only you knew, _America thought at the ironic statement. _If only you knew. _"That was a delivery for me. Personal, the security dudes must've sent him up here by mistake. Probably the new British one."

"HEY!"

"But why did you drag him out, _cher?_" France inquired silkily, hand cradling his chin as he stared at Alfred in a speculative and seductive way that America was _not _comfortable with. "You seemed utterly terrified when he began to list your order, _non?"_ America swallowed. Crap.

"Yes, _Měiguó,_" China said suspiciously, golden eyes narrowed, "What did you have delivered, aru?"

_Quick America! Think! Think of something! _America took a desperate look around the room and answered with the first object he saw.

"...Mugs." he said. You could hear a pin drop, it got so quiet at the utterly bizarre answer.

"You ran out of the room like your life depended on it, dragging some random mailman out with you, because you didn't want us to know you ordered _mugs_?" China said incredulously. "Are you serious, aru?" America slowly nodded, rapidly adopting a very serious face. "Yes." he said. "That is correct. ...Dude."

"Why would you cover up the fact that you ordered a bloody pair of mugs?" England asked, looking like he wanted to pull his hair out. Or strangle America.

"...They have...an...embarrassing design?" America tried. And England crossed his arms. _"Really?"_ he asked scathingly. "And _what_ would that design be?" America scrambled for a suitable answer.

"...Hello Kitty?"

The meeting became a chaotic hell after that, but at least he was able to beat China and Japan away from his shoes, and no one figured out the true nature of his package.

Greece, naturally, slept through the entire thing.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:**

**Flying shoe 'command word': Maia (_The Lightning Theif)_**

**Hermes wasn't able to deliver America's mail on time because Zeus had banned the gods from contact with mortals, but Hermes argued that it was _America,_ and he wasn't mortal, so he was able to eventually get the delivery to Alfred.**

**Esquire: A fashion magazine for men (according to the Internet) **

**Parenting: I assume its a parenting magazine. Its to help America deal with his many states**

**Southern Living: ...I hope that the magazine is basically the title, or that's awkward.**

_**Cher: **_**Dear**

_**Non: **_**no**

**_Měiguó_: America in Mandarin. I would use characters, but my writing program won't let me, so it's in pinyin (and you know vaguely how to pronounce it now) **

**I don't know how many drachmas have to be paid for something to be expensive in the Percy Jackson world, so I guessed 20 drachma's would be pretty pricey since the gods only accept the pure gold ones.**

***Florida is where things from the Bermuda Triangle (the Sea of Monsters) wash up, and some of the Party Ponies party in South Florida. Florida takes up the role of handling Ancient Greek/Greek affairs since, according to the always slightly questionable Wikipedia, Tarpon Springs, Florida has the highest concentration of Greek-Americans in the country, with 8.87% speaking Greek at home and 11.7% having Greek ancestry (as of 2000). **

***New York rents out the Empire State Building to the gods, but honestly doesn't really want them there. They keep messing up Manhattan and stuff, and they're too childish in his opinion. He is much more fond of Ancient Egypt, and actively participates in the House of Life's affairs/wars/ and generally helps them out while trying to forget about the Greek gods existance(unless he's yelling at them about trashing Manhattan and demanding that they pay for damages or else he'll cut off their power. He did manage to do that after the Titan War. And they did pay him for damages once they realized, that yes, he _could _shut down their power and _keep _it shut down despite the fact that they were gods)**

***California and Rome are bros. Except he hits on her a lot, but she either doesn't mind or doesn't notice.**


	3. One Man's Trash

_**Junk and Treasure**_

America firmly believed in "One man's trash is another man's treasure". I mean, he bought seemingly useless or vintage crap all the time, thinking it was the best thing since sliced bread. This usually happened when he was visiting Rome or California in the Bay Area, because he was subtly influenced by the overwhelming amount of hipsters there.

(It should be mentioned that the Bay Area in California has _so many _hipsters, that a decent amount of them don't even _realize_ that they are hipsters, because everyone around them is a hipster and they can't tell the difference between a hipster and a non-hipster)

So anyway, Alfred was in his Bay Area (San Francisco to be more precise), cleaning out his apartment of junk. Specifically, Roman junk.

_Oh hey, _Alfred thought excitedly, picking up an Empire style _pilum_ that was propped against the wall of his closet. _I forgot I had this! _He eagerly shifted into a proper stance and mimicked throwing the javelin, before bringing it back to inspect it more closely. _With a proper cleaning, I can donate this to the weapons stash. _And with that thought, he tossed it into his "Good" pile on his bed. He had a large wooden crate next to the bed with large painted letters spelling, "DONATE (MUSEUEM)" on the side.

Alfred tossed some darts in the DONATE box, _Manica _armor went on the bed, Calvary helmet was immediately tossed due to the fact that it never failed to mess up his hair. His Spatha, gladii, and pugio were instantly placed into the good pile. After some rummaging, Alfred pulled out a...Hasta? Alfred squinted at it. Pulled down Texas to examine it even further. Why the hell did he have a Hasta? The things were barely used anymore. Compared to gladii, they sucked. Still wondering why the fuck he still had the old Roman spear, Alfred heard a knock at his apartment door. Hasta forgotten and still in hand, Alfred trudged out of his bedroom to the door and peeked through the peephole. It was Germany. With...documents. Fuck.

America opened the door. "'SUP DUDE?!" He exclaimed, inwardly crying over the fact that the German had brought _work _with him. "I was just gonna make some good ol' American style hamburgers! Want some?" Germany's eyebrow twitched. "Nein." America shrugged. "Whatever, bro-"

"Please, America. Do NOT refer to me as _bro."_

"-So what'cha here for?" America finished, totally ignoring Germany's request to be never referred to as bro. I mean, Germany. Please.

"These documents are essential for the next world meeting, and it is crucial that you look over them- Is that a Roman Hasta?" Germany demanded, ice blue eyes going slightly misty and shiny at the sight of the Roman weapon. America blinked. Looked down at his hand holding the spear. Oops. Better do some damage control.

He propped the Hasta's base on the ground and leaned slightly into it to give a air of nonchalance. "Yeah. You know, just doing some cleaning." He remarked in a (fake but still buy-able) breezy manner. "No big deal. Totally unherioc, I mean, I already have, like, six gladii and they're _way _cooler, man." He flicked the spear end to make his point. America shrugged casually. "You know. Whatever." Sadly, that entire speech was actually the honest truth for America. However, America was surrounded by Roman weapons, armor and culture so often that he usually forgot something very critical.

Other people weren't. To other people, all the stuff he had were historical artifacts, and worth lots and lots of money.

And don't even get started on how he treated Ancient Greece's stuff. It usually went along the lines of "Oh hey, Aphrodite's hand mirror- OH MY GOD, IS THAT THE LATEST IPHONE?!"

Anyway, America finished his little speech and looked back up to Germany. Who was staring at him, face blank and eyes totally glazed over. America titled his head. "...Germany?"

Eyes still shiny with a distant disbelief.

"Geeerrrmaaaannnyyyyy?" No visible change.

America decided physical contact was needed.

And so, America poked Germany's eye because it was _just_ so shiny and blue. (Like Freedom!)

"Scheiße!" Germany roared, hand over his right eye. America grinned. "Sorry dude! But you were totally freaking me out right there."

"Excuse me for being a little shocked over such a blasé attitude towards a _priceless historical artifact._" Germany growled. America blinked innocently and then smacked a hand to his head. "OH RIGHT! I'd forgotten all this stuff was actually priceless!" He laughed loudly to Germany's shock. "Man, it's all just useless crap to me!" Shaking his head in amusement, America continued to chuckle. "So, I need to sign those documents?" Germany's mouth opened and closed wordlessly, back to staring longingly at the Hasta.

"...Taking that as a yes." America muttered, taking the documents from Germany's hand. America stared as Germany continued to stare at the Hasta, and then glanced back down the the European's hand, which was still in the air and in document holding position. America glanced down at the Hasta. _Eh. Was gonna give it away anyway._ With that thought, he shoved the Hasta into Germany's hand, said, "I _so _don't owe you a birthday present anymore, dude," and closed the door on Germany's face.

* * *

><p>After this, Germany stumbled back to his plane, and flew home in a numb stupor, carrying the Hasta the entire time. It was only when he walked inside his house, put his keys in the little dish by the door, did it fully hit him that America had very casually given him a priceless artifact from the <em>Roman Empire,<em> Germany's idol.

He proceeded to freak out for 10 minutes, before running to get his cleaning tools and made the Hasta very shiny and pretty and boss looking once again. He then mounted the thing on his mantle, little stands holding the spear up so it lay horizontally above his fireplace, and looking pretty badass. Germany felt very happy.

Of course, two days later, when he opened his newspaper, he promptly spat out the coffee he was drinking over the article about an 'anonymous donation' of at least two dozen rare Roman artifacts that were given to a local museum in San Francisco late last night that was conveniently located only two blocks from America's apartment.

America never understood why Germany kept trying to talk about Rome with him after that, and frankly, it was making both himself and Italy uncomfortable.

But hey, at least he got rid of all that old junk.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **

**It is canon that Germany is a fan of the Roman Empire. This can be seen in the 2011(?) Halloween Event when Germany dresses up as the Roman Empire for his costume. It's kinda weird, but hilarious.  
>An common headcannon for Hetalia is that all of the nations fly to other countries on private planes. Hence, security does not tackle Germany and confiscate the Hasta when he is trying to leave.<br>**

**All weapon information is found on Wikipedia:**

**The pilum (plural pila) was a heavy javelin commonly used by the Roman army in ancient times **

**Darts: Late infantrymen often carried half a dozen lead-weighted throwing-darts called plumbatae (from plumbum = "lead"), with an effective range of ca. 30 m, well beyond that of a javelin. The darts were carried clipped to the back of the shield. **

**Manica: From early Imperial times to after the fall of the Western Empire, some troops wore segmented armour on one or both arms. **

**Gladius is the general Latin word for "sword". In the Roman Republic, the term 'Gladius Hispaniensis' (Spanish Sword) referred (and refers today) specifically to the short sword, 50cm-60cm (24 inches) long, used by Roman legionaries from the 3rd century BC **

**A pugio was a dagger used by Roman soldiers. It was probably a sidearm **

**A spatha could be any sword (in late Latin), but most often one of the longer swords characteristic of the middle and late Roman Empire **

**Hasta is a Latin word meaning a thrusting spear. Hastae were carried by early Roman Legionaries; in particular they were carried by and gave their name to those Roman soldiers known as Hastati. However, during Republican times, the hastati were re-armed with pila and gladii and only the Triarii still used hastae. **

**The definition of a hispter:**

_**The greatest concentrations of hipsters can be found living in the Williamsburg, Wicker Park, and Mission District neighborhoods of major cosmopolitan centers such as New York, Chicago, and San Francisco respectively. Although "hipsterism" is really a state of mind,it is also often intertwined with distinct fashion sensibilities. Hipsters reject the culturally-ignorant attitudes of mainstream consumers, and are often be seen wearing vintage and thrift store inspired fashions, tight-fitting jeans, old-school sneakers, and sometimes thick rimmed glasses. ****Both hipster men and women sport similar androgynous hair styles that include combinations of messy shag cuts and asymmetric side-swept bangs. Such styles are often associated with the work of creative stylists at urban salons, and are usually too "edgy" for the culturally-sheltered mainstream consumer. The "effortless cool" urban bohemian look of a hipster is exemplified in Urban Outfitters and American Apparel ads which cater towards the hipster demographic...More at Urban Dictionary www. urbandictionary define. php? term= hipster&defid= 2705928 (subtract the spaces)  
><strong>_


	4. Roaring Twenties

**Warnings: In-explicit mentions of the Red Scare, Prohibition, the Italian Mafia. H**inted **Spamano, RusAme, Romerica. Discriminatory use of the word Ruski and violence**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Roaring Twenties<strong>_

America laughed in the speak-easy, slamming his drink against some stranger's in a toast to something that probably didn't even matter, not that America cared to remember. All that mattered was the music, the pulse of the room, the warm bodies laughing and dancing, and most importantly, the warm burn of alcohol sliding down his gullet.

* * *

><p>America easily slid from the speak-easy, and despite being totally hammered, walked with forced practiced steps. He wouldn't want to be caught by the police. Then he would have to go on the lam, and report to his boss, who'd be furious that he was breaking Prohibition. But it was the Big Cheese's fault, yeah? Prohibition was stupid, and forbidding the hooch made it so much more the Cat's Meow. Alfred giggled, adding a jump to his step, as new giddy, twisty words popped into his head; the slang of the decade. A figure appeared in the distance. Leaning against an alley wall, he stood sharp just beyond the lamplight of streets and the law, with a slimming pinstripe suit, black tie, and sleek fedora pulled low over his dark auburn hair. A cigarette was stuck casually in his mouth, his shiny ebony shoes tapping the pavement impatiently. Golden slices for eyes slid over to America, hair curl bobbing along.<p>

"Hey, baby!" America sang, sliding up to Romano cheerfully, flinging an arm over the Mob boss's shoulder. "You come 'round here a lot lately, Spain being a flat tire tonight?" Romano's hand twitched towards the gun America knew he had within the confines of his suit jacket. The man took a drag from his cigarette, before tossing it on the ground and grinding the smoke and fire out with his pretty shiny shoe. "Stop fooling around _Alfred._" Alfred roared with laughter. "If Spain's not working for you, I could satisfy you for a night. Cash or check, doll?" Romano, quick as a striking cobra, pushed off the wall he had been coolly leaning on and swiped at his neck with a shiv hidden in his sleeve. Alfred leaned back and let out a jeering meow. "Oh! Check, then!"

"I don't want your fucking 'check' dammit!" Romano hissed, knife still in hand and wielded expertly, eyes on fire, but still calculating. Those eyes were like a eagle's, they burned you. Watched you. Waited for your trust to build, your guard to lower, before zooming in on you and making the kill. Alfred had seen those eyes many times before tonight, they didn't scare him. "Yeah, yeah." Alfred waved his hand dismissively, "I'd rather have a nice flapper. A _real _dame, you know? Hell, if drunk enough, I'd take the Ruski." America burst into a fit of scandalized giggles, as the idea of a night with the Russian popped into his head. "Sexy Reds all 'round my place." He stage whispered to the irate Italian. "Don't tell Arthur, but I wouldn't mind necking Ivan sometime."

"I'm running out of patience, you stupid brat." Romano said, eyes now cold. "I have things to do."

"Cops to kill, Roma?"

"Among others. Your place is in the day now, Golden Boy." Romano said quietly, taking a swift glace for any authorities. "The night, American _or _Italian, belongs to me."

"Looks like a naughty owl is sprouting keen lines!" America hooted, rocking forward on his heels to stare into the clear eyes of the shorter but much deadlier man. "Sexy tomato, you sure you aren't up for a quick petting?"

"I'm not a woman, dammit!"

"You didn't say no to the petting~"

"FUCK OFF."

"Right, right. You're the sap stuck on _España."_ Alfred smirked wickedly, and Romano stared before smirking back. The smooth Italian slid up to the America and traced his collar with long, artist fingers clothed in black gloves. Alfred's eyes turned smoky from the previous fog, and ignored the blood stains on Romano's covered hands. "Well," Romano murmured silkily, hand now dragging down the toned chest of his counterpart seductively. "A little jealousy never hurt a man. And it would be _fun_. Don't you think, Jones?" The other hand sifted through hair made of gold. Romano tilted his head and brushed sinfully soft lips to the American's ear. "Such a golden boy you are," he breathed hotly, "Golden boy for a golden state." America tugged on the Southern Italian's lapels. "Only the best for California." He whispered back. "The gold of the Empire." Alfred's mouth pressed against the smooth column of Romano's neck just beneath the jaw.

"Empire?"

"An gold of Imperial design." A tongue slid on the skin, and America couldn't tell if his tongue was cold, or Romano's blood just burned that hot. Romano let out a chuckle, before pulling back and sharply pulling on America's hair, causing America to cry out in pain. Romano smirk was no long sultry and burning, but cold and cruel. "I told you not to fuck with me." The hand released the hair, only to grab the younger nation's throat and pin him to the wall. "I want what I want, bastard." Romano hissed. "And when I want something, _I fucking get it._" America choked out a laugh. "Then what do you want, Romano?" The drunk teen was removed from the wall by an inch, only to be slammed back into it, cracking the brick and Alfred felt the blood drip down his temple rather than see it. "I want you to stop fucking around and I want to settle my business, bastard." Romano said coldly, before dropping the now bruised throat and grabbing America's shirt collar instead, dragging him to the Italian's chest so the two nations were nose to nose. "You. Me. Here tomorrow. And be sober, dammit." The most feared Mafia boss in all of America smiled demonically, condescension dripping from the perfectly curved lips like poison. America hated it and loved it all at once. "Or else Big Shot Boss finds out about your dirty little escapades." America's back hit the wall again when Romano shoved him off, and America let out a strained gasping laugh as he felt the bruises form and the scratches scab. Romano pulled out his gun. "Be there, _babydoll_."

The night heard the shots, but didn't see the slick man dressed in the sweet pinstripe suit stride out of the alley into the low light of the streets and back into the darkness. And Alfred, with a bullet lodged in his heart and brain, laughed. Blood, burning hot and sticky and full of iron bubbled up his throat and spattered onto his rumpled shirt as the booming laughter strained his lungs and struggling heart as he sat slumped against a broken brick wall.

"Fucking wet blanket," Alfred gurgled, coughing as the red iron tickled his throat. He looked up to the sky, gazing at the inky midnight expanse and winked back at the stars that coyly waved and batted their eyelashes. "I still want my goddamn check."

* * *

><p><strong>*Big Cheese: Boss; Big shot<strong>

***Cat's Meow: Something splendid or stylish**

***Hooch: Bootleg liquor**

***Flat tire: A dull witted, insipid, disappointing date**

***Cash or check: Kiss now or later?**

***Check: Kiss later**

***Tomato:Woman**

**A/N: So this one was supposed to be about America and Romano interaction and it just evolved into this darkness. I'm actually very happy with it, despite it being so off tangent.  
><strong>


	5. Marriage

_**Marriage**_

America's normally sky happy blue eyes were reminiscent of blue diamond as he stared down the two seated in front of him. His fingers twitched. A foot tapped in the silence. An elegant eyebrow raised defiantly.

"Alright," America said lowly, eyes narrowing behind the thin frames on his face. "I don't want to do this. You two don't want to do this either. But we have to if we want to survive. So-" He picked up his clipboard and lifted a page. "Tell me where it began to go wrong."

Deathly silence.

"Sometimes I feel that Hellas just doesn't appreciate my authority."

"ROMULUS!" America held up his hand. _"Hellas." _He warned. "This is good, Romulus." He said soothingly. "This is what marriage counseling is all about, getting your problems out in the open so we can talk about them." America wrote some notes on his clipboard.

_Potentially unacceptable chauvinist attitude on Rome's part. _

"Continue, Romulus." America prodded gently, as if speaking to a frightened kitten. Rome awkwardly shifted in his wooden chair and looked around America's study, pushing his fingers together nervously. "It's just...I went to all this effort to make Hellas see how strong I was, and she just keeps belittling me-"

"You _conquered_ my land! And took my gods! And the Athena Parthenos! That was like- like emotional rape!"

"Inside voices." America said as he scribbled down Ancient Greece's emotional rape comment. "Okay. Hellas, expand on how you felt when Romulus took over your land and took the Parthenos-"

"You just barge in, all high and mighty," Hellas ranted, not even looking at her husband, nose in the air with anger, "and just take, take, _take! _You never give anything back! This marriage is completely one sided and always has been!"

"Erm-"

"One sided?! I provided for you! I made sure you and Hercules were as comfortable as possible-"

"Oh sure, while you're gallivanting around with Romano. Conquering other nations, sleeping with all those _other _countries. Including my sister! You think I don't know who Gupta's father is?!"

"Uh-"

"They meant nothing!"

"Then why did you sleep with them and father their bastards?! HUH?! Was keeping it in your fucking armored skirt _that _hard?!"

"I follow my emotions and passions, okay?! Sometimes that results in mistakes!"

"Oh yeah, _mistakes. _That would be so much more believable if you didn't make the same mistake over and over and over! YOU THINK I DON'T KNOW ABOUT BRITANNIA?"

"Wait, what?"

"WHO TOLD YOU?!"

"Oh, please! That insane desire to conquer the world didn't come from the Celtic, faerie loving island dweller! Were you _that_ desperate to get laid? To sail across the ocean and take a fucking_ island_?!"

"Rome is Iggy's dad?"

"You think I'm the only one whose had affairs?! What about that Ottoman kid?"

"Whoah, now hang on-"

"Oh, of _course _you bring Sadiq into this! You never could stand him, could you?"

"Of course not! Why would I be okay with the kid that's CONSTANTLY HITTING ON MY WIFE?!"

"You constantly hit on _his_ mother all the time! Who's also my sister!"

"You slept with _both _of her sisters?"

"Just once!"

"And Sadiq and I were never together! He is even younger than you, for the gods sake! But nooooo. You could never accept that maybe I was actually _faithful_ to you, could you? No, you needed an excuse to continue sleeping around, you man-whore!"

"HEY! I AM YOUR HUSBAND, AND YOU WILL NOT TALK TO ME LIKE THAT!"

"IT'S THE 21st CENTURY, JACKASS! I CAN SAY WHATEVER THE HELL I WANT, ESPECIALLY IF IT'S TO COMPLAIN ABOUT WHAT A SHITTY HUSBAND YOU ARE!" America removed his glasses, rubbed his eyes, reached over to his office phone, and picked up the receiver after finding the number he wanted from his now open laptop.

"WE'RE NOT _FROM_ THE 21st CENTURY! AND WHAT ABOUT YOU?! MAYBE IF YOU WEREN'T CALLING ME BASTARD, AND SHOVING ME AWAY ALL THE TIME I WOULDN'T SLEEP AROUND!"

"OH, THAT'S RICH! MAYBE IF YOU PAID ATTENTION TO ME FOR _ONE SECOND _YOU'D REALIZE THAT THAT'S HOW I SHOW AFFECTION, YOU FUCKING ASS!"

"Hello?" America said into the receiver calmly, ignoring the yelling that was happening right in front of him. "My name is Alfred F. Jones, and I would like to schedule an appointment for my friends."

"YOU NEVER ACKNOWLEDGED MY GODS WERE BETTER!"

"BRAWN OVER BRAINS AS ALWAYS! DID YOU EVER CONSIDER THAT WISDOM IN BATTLE IS JUST AS IMPORTANT! OH WAIT, YOU DIDN'T BECAUSE YOU WERE TOO BUSY _DESTROYING ATHENS_**!**"

"Their names are Romulus Vargas and Hellas Karpusi, and they are currently separated and could really benefit from your service." America paused, listening to the other end. "Sooner would be best. Friday?" He checked his calender. "Friday would work great! 2:00 o'clock is perfect, thanks! Oh, and just a warning, be prepared for a lot of screaming."

_New York Marriage & Family Counseling has dealt with many cases where the spouses are hostile towards each other, Mr. Jones._

"Well," Alfred hedged, "Just...Listen, okay?." He held up the phone in the general direction of the now standing, screaming Ancients.

"AND YOU WERE NEVER THERE FOR HERACLES! YEAH, NOT HERCULES! _HERACLES! _YOU JUST WOULD BREEZE IN, GIVE HIM A CAT, AND WALTZ RIGHT BACK OUT TO YOUR WHORES!"

"HEY, _HERCULES_ IS MY SON TOO, AND I LOVE HIM JUST AS MUCH AS YOU DO!"

"THEN WHY WERE YOU NEVER THERE? HUH?! MAYBE IF YOU STUCK AROUND AND ADDED SOME STRUCTURE TO HIS LIFE, OR TAUGHT HIM SOME THINGS ABOUT PRACTICALITY AND INDEPENDENCE, MAYBE HE WOULDN'T BE IN SO MUCH DEBT!"

"I TAUGHT ROMANO ALL THAT AND _HE'S _IN DEBT!"

"THAT'S FELICIANO AND YOU _KNOW_ IT, YOU STUPID BASTARD!"

America brought the phone back to his ear. "So, Friday. 2:00 o'clock?" There was the crackle of stunned silence through the phone. America nodded to himself, said, "Friday it is. Have a nice day, miss," and hung up the phone. Gathering his papers and shoving them into the nearest drawer, he picked up his Ipod, his sound canceling headphones and made his way to the door. "Hey, I'm going to Nevada's for a while, okay?"

"OH, SADIQ _AGAIN!_ JUST ADMIT IT! YOU FELT THREATENED BY HIM!"

"THREATENED BY A _BRAT!_ YOU MUST BE ABSOLUTELY CRA-"

"Okay, see you later!" America said hastily, before yanking out the door and running the hell out of there, their marital spat echoing in his ears like very pissed off, vengeful ghosts.

America decided _never again _would he _**ever**_**, **try to give Ancient Rome and Ancient Greece marriage counseling.

NEVER.

* * *

><p><strong>*Ancient Greece's sisters: Ancient Egypt, Anatolia, sometimes called the Asia Minor (Turkey's mom)<strong>

***Gupta: Egypt**

***Britannia: Scotland, Wales, N. Ireland, Ireland, and England's mom. Rome is only England's father**


	6. American Wine

**_American Wine_**

No one really understood America.

Really, no one really got him. Sometimes, if people paid enough attention to him, which no one really ever did, they'd see Romano get a gleam in his eyes. Like he knew _exactly _was going on in America's head whenever America had one of his, erm, _moments._

Like, when sometimes America screamed at the sky. Usually in great frustration, and something along the lines of, "HAVEN'T I DONE ENOUGH YOU BASTARDS?! WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME?!"

Or the strange one-sided phone calls America made, hushed and whispered and nervous. It was odd how America always jumped wildly in tension when Australia approached him, muttering about monsters and the smell of "koala" plants as he relaxed. Or the times they caught America talking to the mist in fountains, and chatting at rainbows. There of course was that time that America was seen scratching an almost monstrous cat behind the ears, cooing and calling it Mrs. O'Leary, and how it was such a good "puppy". America refused to wear purple or orange, often saying it would be unfair and that he couldn't show favoritism, which made _no_ sense, and the young nation wouldn't take medicine, instead choosing to eat brownies the color of gold.

In short, America made no sense whatsoever. America was strange, illogical, and completely out of tune with the world.

This, France thought, made what he was experiencing even more unfair.

"Dude, you've been staring at your drink for a while. You okay?" France looked up at the young nation, and swirled the remaining wine in his glass, both in speculation and to kill time so he could formulate an answer. "You are a strange one _Amérique,_" France mused, taking another sip from the crystal cup, "I would've tried harder to capture you as _mon frère_ if I had known your talents for wine making."

"...Thank you...?" America shifted awkwardly in his seat, sipping from his (surprisingly reasonably sized) soda. "Uh, the use of the word "capture" is kinda creepy-"

"The bottle is unmarked," France interrupted, starring intently at the innocent half full bottle, dark emerald green with rich maroon luxury inside. The was no brand, and the cork was plain. And yet it was the best wine France had ever tasted, perfect richness, texture, aftertaste, even the color was beyond perfection. America didn't seem too bothered by it. "Uh, yeah. It was a, um. A-A gift."

"A...gift?"

"Yeah."

"From where?"

"California."

"Who gave it to you?"

"Ba- uh, a friend of mine. Winemaker. Has a vineyard." France's eyes narrowed at the hesitation, and the quick cut off of the actual name of the winemaker. "Interesting," The French nation said instead, his voice smooth.

"Yeah."

"I would like to meet your friend, _Amérique-__"_

"He doesn't like people." America said instantly, eyes growing distant. France raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"He like leopards more than people. Goats like him, but he gets bored with them pretty quick," France's other eyebrow joined the first in bemusement, and was beginning to get concerned that America was befriending someone rather disturbed. "...Goats?"

"Oh, they worship him, but he'd rather be with his leopard. His name's Seymor."

"...He has a leopard?"

"Yeah. Well, his head anyway." America nodded his head thoughtfully, totally missing the seriously concerned, and possibly disgusted, look on France's face. "He's really good conversation, Seymor. Or so I've heard. I don't really understand him, since he's, you know, a _leopard_."

"..."

"So, you wanted to talk to me about something?"

"...England's birthday is coming up. I was wondering if you were getting him anything-"

"Dude, I had the best idea EVER! There'll be fireworks, and cake, and OH! Let's have a Pinata! So, for his present, I was thinking-Oh, hey man, you want another cup?" France stared at America evenly for a moment, before wordlessly holding out his wineglass, watching as the rich red wine flow out of the bottle like liquid gold. France sighed as he brought the glass back to his lips, listening to America's ramblings about what sounded like robots and Sherlock Holmes.

Yes, America was strange, and it was completely unfair that America had a crazy cat-obsessed man with the wine-making skills of Bacchus to make him wine, wine excellent enough for gods, despite that _France _was the country of wine, but France decided that it would be best to leave it.

After all, who could hope to understand America and all his peculiarities? Such as task was as impossible as the perfection of the wine that glided down France's throat.

* * *

><p><strong>*Eucalyptus trees: Trees native to Australia that koalas climb on. Koalas also eat the leaves. Monsters (dragons) in California like eucalyptus trees, and there are a lot of them in San Francisco where Mount Othrys is located.<br>**

*****California is infamous for its wine and vineyards.****

*******Dionysus bought Seymor the leopard head from a poacher at a garage sale. And then did something horrible to the poacher, but no one really knows what.******

***France at one point during its early history was conquered by Romans, so France would know the Roman gods instead of their Greek counterparts.**


	7. Getting it Right

**Has explicit end pairing of Russia/America. If that's not your thing, skip this chapter. Small allusions to other story, Byzantine.  
>AmericaWorld Powers, Spain/Romano, England/Portugal, England/India, The Frying Pangle, France/Jeanne D'Arc, Germany/Italy, Greece/Japan  
><strong>

* * *

><p><em><strong>Getting it Right<strong>_

One day, Aphrodite thought. One day, I'll get it right.

Aphrodite was a queen among women, the Mistress of gods, the Empress of love. She was a master at relationships, a genius in matchmaking and setups. What she thought was a good match _was _a good match.

Except when it came to Alfred.

Alfred was impossible. Oh, she loved the little darling. She adored his cute little apostle, his sparkling eyes, his boyish grin. He had created Southern belle style for her; tea parties and dollies and dresses in her honor. Cupcakes and wars; a Lost Generation of heroes and lovers and beautiful drama, all an unintentional gift from Alfred's soul to hers. Yes, Alfred was a sweetie, but he was impossible. She was Aphrodite. When it came to romance and love, she was always right. _Except _when it came to Alfred.

* * *

><p>Aphrodite tried the Spanish one first. Antonio Fernández Carriedo. He seemed perfect, with smooth, handsome features, hair of chocolate that was windswept from conquest, and whose blood was pumping with nothing but passion. It will be beautiful, Aphrodite thought happily when she first observed the Spaniard set upon the American lands with the swagger of an explorer. She squealed giddily when the Conquistador happened upon little America and scooped him up in his arms, cooing at the young Native. It would be perfect, the goddess decided. A perfect love story; a forbidden love barred by a mentor-student relationship, which would blossom and explode in passion and desire as they fell into each others arms.<p>

It was only three days later that Aphrodite realized Alfred and Antonio would NOT be perfect together. There was already another deliciously, perfect love story in play between Spain and little Romano. Aphrodite sighed in happiness when she discovered Byzantine had finally found love in a dramatic twist of war, secrecy, and desperation. Aphrodite could wait for America's love story if she had Romano's to feast on.

* * *

><p>She swooned when the French one and the English nation fought for America, the oblivious little cutie-pie. Love triangles were magnificent. The Englishman radiated power, and a rugged, jarring attractiveness with his sharp features, thick eyebrows, and wild short hair. The Frenchman could've been on of her sons, with his elegant charisma, his groomed hair, and his sensuous eyes and movements.<p>

America picked the one with power, not for the glory, but out of compassion (and some pity), for the others' insecurities.

Aphrodite was skeptical, but if Arthur Kirkland was what America wanted, then so be it.

* * *

><p>"You aren't interfering with my plans for Alfred, are you?" Aphrodite glared suspiciously at her elder, and Hera sniffed in haughtiness. "Plans? Why would I bother with <em>your<em> plans?" Aphrodite pouted. It wasn't fair that Hera didn't like her! Just because Aphrodite advocated romance and true love! So what if that meant sometimes her influence broke a few (million) marriages? Hera suddenly paused in stroking her precious peacock, and narrowed her eyes.

"What plans?" Aphrodite hummed innocently, her lustrous hair changing honey blonde to raven black in her nervousness as she twirled a stand with a delicate, artistic finger. "Nothing."

"You have plans for Alfred." Not a question. A statement. A cold, disapproving one at that.

"...No-"

"Do not interfere with America. He does well in not falling in love. A personification like himself would never be able to politically handle a marriage-" Aphrodite waved a hand dismissively.

"Marriage, smarriage! Alfred needs love in his life!"

"Personifications find it overwhelmingly difficult to remain faithful. Politically it is almost impossible. The English one alone makes me cringe in despair over the disgusting amount of infidelity-"

"The English one, huh?"

"Aphrodite. No. Aphro-Aphrodite!"

* * *

><p>It was promising, the relationship between America and England. Loving and doting, the English nation spoiled Alfred (named after a great king, but didn't suit America's power like the name Alexander would), and Alfred admired and almost worshiped his elder.<p>

But then it turned sour. Aphrodite would admit, she (and all the other Olympians, who favored their latest hero) was biased towards Alfred, and mostly blamed the foreigner for the collapse of their relationship. England's trysts with the Portuguese one, and India caused his memory of America to crumble, and America grew too strong for England to handle in the Empire's absence. America rebelled, and Aphrodite cast the idea of England and America from her mind, and wasted no more effort on the pair.

Instead, she tries to push the Prussian, who reminds her so much of Ares, and Alfred together. But the soldier has his heart fixated on taken woman, and Aphrodite is uncomfortable at how the Prussian's love for the Hungarian mirrors her own marital relationship with Hephaestus and her affairs with Ares. She decides to watch the "Frying Pangle", and in a moment of hypocrisy, hopes the Prussian breaks free and falls for another instead of the Hungarian nation, who is happily married to the Austrian, but seeks sexual fulfillment elsewhere.

* * *

><p>She turned her attention back to the Frenchman, as the romantic smiled kindly at her nation, and offered chocolate and roses. She did not have hopes for him, and told America in a dream to abandon any thoughts of a romantic endeavor with Monsieur Francis Bonnefoy.<p>

Don't bother, she told America, strings of sadness clinging to her voice, he already loves another. You will merely be a replacement that will not satisfy him. No one can satisfy the lust he feels for his loss.

Aphrodite loves a good drama, but some stories would be better off with happy endings, and the goddess of love mourns that France's ending, doomed to be bittersweet from the start, went up in flames and smoke instead.

* * *

><p>Alright, so her last...four, yes four, that was right-attempts at finding America's match had failed spectacularly. Well, there was always the brother-<p>

"NO. CHANCE. IN. _**HELL**_"

Perhaps the cousin south of the boarder-

"_**NO**_."

Damn.

* * *

><p>There was a moment of peace between the German and Alfred, centuries later after the Great War, but the German clearly had an infatuation with the ditzy Italian boy, and Romano was still dancing with Spain.<p>

* * *

><p>Competition with the Ancient one spurred fire and challenge in her hero, but fire and enthusiasm turned to wariness, exploitation, and suspicion. Not a very auspicious match at all.<p>

* * *

><p>Aphrodite hoped, although by this time her hopes were weak, that something could be born from the ashes of the atom bomb. Friendship only, and Aphrodite didn't push when she saw little Heracles, all grown up and devastatingly handsome in the relaxed way he'd always been, had an infatuation with Honda Kiku.<p>

She left Japan alone from her influence in tribute to the little boy who used to tug on her skirts, and give her freshly picked flowers.

* * *

><p>Aphrodite was lost, and decided to give up. Perhaps...America was meant to be alone. The thought made her tear up, but there appeared to be no other way.<p>

"That's it. Poor Alfie, alone forever." Aphrodite sniffed, eating bonbons and daintily wiping her perfectly made up eyes with a handkerchief.

"You're a fool," was all Hera said, not even looking up in her direction.

"H-How can you say that?!" Aphrodite cried, "Poor Alfred! Alone and isolated from love forever! How can something like that not pull on your heartstrings?!"

"Because he's been married since the 1860's." Hera replied unfazed, eating a slice of pomegranate and petting a cow plushie's head with fondness. Aphrodite recognized it as a gift from Alfred, who had given it to Hera years ago with bounding happiness and joy. Hera was quite fond of it.

"E-eh?"

"Of course he's remained faithful and has not been influenced by your absurdities. He's had my blessing." Hera continued, taking her toy and standing. "I am retiring to my bed chambers. Goodbye-"

"M-Married?!" Aphrodite squealed, "B-b-but! WHEN? WHO? How did I not know-"

"Marriage is beyond your reach. Familial love and the bond between spouses is my domain."

"W-WHO?" Aphrodite all but shrieked, needing to know which man eluded her sights. Hera rolled her eyes and began walking away.

"Isn't it obvious? It's obviously the Russian. Alfred was completely infatuated with him for _centuries_ before begging for my assistance. He prayed for your help of course-"

_Yes, that's why I've been trying to find the right one for him_, Aphrodite thought sourly, "-but you took that to mean he wanted you to find the "one" for him, so he turned to me. It was easy, of course, since Russia was equally infatuated with America, even their ideological spat didn't dampen their marriage..."

Aphrodite stood there, utterly flummoxed as Hera vanished to her chambers, before stamping her foot childishly and pouting her pretty lips.

"No fair!" Aphrodite wailed. "I wanted to be the one to set Alfie up!"

And after that, she watched America and Russia waltz, and laugh, and fight, and love and be happy, and the great goddess of love pouted once more. They were a dysfunctional, yet perfect pair. It was a match worthy of Aphrodite. Aphrodite gave them her blessing, crossed her arms, and kicked the ground in annoyance, swearing vengeance on the Queen of Olympus.

_Stupid Hera_, Aphrodite thought mulishly, _Taking all my fun_. _You'll pay for interfering in my matchmaking._

* * *

><p><strong>*The cow and pomegranate are symbols of Hera<br>**

***Portugal and England and historical BFFS/potential Friends with Benefits, no one really knows which. India was the "crown jewel" of the English colonies. Mostly for the tea. England is a real dick/whore for tea, historically speaking.**

***Woodrow Wilson (USA President) during the Treaty of Paris after WWI was hesitant about all the reparations and blame we were putting on Germany, but in the end kinda rolled with it. If he had been more comfortable, that blame probably woud've been worse, but it was still shitty and unjustified, to be perfectly honest.**

***Historically, Russia and America share a thing during the 1860's, as Russia is the only World power that supported the Union (and kinda helped them out) during the American Civil War. Both America and Russia also freed the slaves/emancipated the serfs around this time (1863 (Emancipation Proclamation)/1865 (13th Amendment/Civil War ends), and 1863 (Emancipation of the Serfs)). In fact, all up until the Russian Revolution and the establishment of Communist government in Russia, the USA and Russia were pretty much "FOREVER ALONE/TRADE/WE BOTH DON'T REALLY LIKE ENGLAND RIGHT NOW/HERE'S ALASKA AMERICA" Bros, with a brief rekindling of "WAR COMRADES, FOREVER PRAISE YOUR BRAVERY RUSSIA/DAMMIT AMERICA, YOU COULD HELP US OUT MORE INSTEAD OF ENGLAND YOU DICK, BUT IT'S NICE TO DRAMATICALLY MEET UP WITH YOU AT THE RIVER, YOU HANDSOME SON OF A BITCH" during WWII**


End file.
